mesmerize (do what you do to me)
by wrappedinrosegold
Summary: Rick had found himself instinctively drawn to the force of nature that was Michonne. A one-shot from Rick's POV, timeline pre-6x15. Title and lyrics within story from Ja Rule ft. Ashanti's "Mesmerize".


_your stare, those eyes, I (love it when you look at me, baby)_

From the moment their eyes had locked through the two layers of barbed wire fence that surrounded the prison, the former shelter for which so many members of their makeshift family had spilled blood; Rick had found himself instinctively drawn to the force of nature that was Michonne.

She had pulled him in with that brown-eyed gaze and it was over, or maybe, somehow, she had been the spark that had reignited something in him, the spark that had been the impetus for a new beginning.

Because those eyes had contained a fire that he had thought the world had extinguished when Lori hadn't come out of the boiler block with Carl, Maggie and Judith, a determination not only to survive in this hell that was their current world, one that was brought into sharp relief by the walkers hissing around her at the fence, but to _live_.

He had forgotten, in the wake of Lori's death, what it was like to have the blazing desire to be alive, not only for the loyal people around him that were caring for his children and protecting the prison, but for himself.

It would be much later that Rick would be privileged to see that flame shift into burning embers, just as intense, but shimmering with a vulnerability that she didn't allow most people to see, a softness that only made her strength that much more impressive in his own eyes.

And it would be those brown eyes that his blue ones would come to seek to be brought back to earth, in moments of uncertainty when he needed her vote of confidence in his unasked for leadership, in moments of anguish when she was one of the only people who could understand the pain that lanced through him every time he failed one of their people, and in rare, beautiful, hard won times of happiness, so many of which would have not been possible without Michonne's warm presence.

(She watched him watching her as she pushed him backwards onto their bed, an almost offhand motion that belied the smoldering gaze.

"Mmm."

He could feel the soft murmur vibrate through her body as she stood between his legs, a low thrum that made him shift underneath her and impatiently reach an arm around her waist to pull her closer.

Of course she wouldn't make it that easy, and he tried to stifle the groan begging to escape his lips as she held herself just away from him, lazily looking him up and down and meeting his steamy stare in a knowing way that made his entire body pulse in anticipation.

"See something you like?" His drawl was assertive and laced with a suggestiveness, a lower register that he had learned that Michonne responded very, very eagerly to when they were in the bedroom, and he wasn't disappointed as she stepped closer, pulling his face up towards hers and tracing the stubble on his jaw.

She was close enough that, if they had all the time in the world, he could spend it counting her eyelashes, or count the stars being reflected in her eyes from the bedroom window, but then he lost the view as she drew closer, her voice a throaty whisper in his ear.

"I like looking at you while you eyefuck me, Sheriff.")

 _y_ _our lips, your smile, I (love it when you kiss me, baby)_

Their relationship had evolved and devolved so many times in the first few days and weeks they had known one another, shifting from open distrust, reluctant reliance, and wary acquaintance to trusting with their lives, an essential, productive member of their band of survivors, and "I think she's one of us".

He had needed to hear Carl say the words and make it official, but Rick had watched the gradual assimilation of Michonne into their tight-knit group happen right before his eyes, in every feature of her beautiful face.

She had been a near silent, wounded warrior with a sword when she had showed up at their gates, her jaw line hard and set into an unbreakable, unreadable expression, her lips pursed except for when brittle, biting words came out, her stance tense in response to his own harshness, his reentry into a world that was even more broken by what he had so recently lost.

She hadn't asked for their help, but he had given it to her grudgingly anyways, and once she was patched up, then she was _gone_.

In the days after their run-in with the Governor at Woodbury, and especially after their run to his old home, the one he could he barely remember, however, the Michonne he would come to know so well bloomed in front of him.

The formerly impassive exterior had cracked and over time her stance had relaxed in the presence of the group, her face had lost the hunted, angry edge that had tensed the muscles in it for so long, and on occasions special and dear to Rick's heart, her lips would melt into a brilliant smile, and even sometimes into a laugh, one that Rick treasured even more when it melded with Carl's equal expression of rare mirth.

Even more importantly than little moments of joy, her smile, her laugh, Michonne became a vocal, valued part of their family, someone who spoke her mind and made swift, decisive plans, and someone who was unafraid to challenge anyone in or out of their group, even, and especially when it was needed, Rick himself.

It never ceased to amaze him how this woman who once barely spoke two words to him or any member of the group, could now call him out without blinking an eye, but with an underlying understanding and compassion for his position that made him listen, made him respect her even more.

(Her mouth curved into a sly smirk, an expression of such insouciance that Rick would have laughed if he wasn't in such a serious state, before pressing her lips to his neck, lightly tracing her tongue over his pulse.

Rick was sure she could feel it quicken under the ministrations of her glorious mouth, and his suspicion was confirmed as she giggled, kissing the spot before working her way luxuriously, painfully slowly down his chest, down his abdomen and across his hip with full, expert lips and teeth and tongue just to drive him that much more to the brink.

"Fuck." His groan was strangled as her talented tongue began working in earnest, as her mouth took him in, as every synapse in his body began firing all at once and all too intensely.

The aborted sound became a series of grunts, curses and attempts to whisper her name as he tried not to fist his hands too hard in her hair, even though she liked when he pulled it, and even considered it a personal victory when he showed her just how much he liked what she was doing.

"You're chatty tonight." The combination of Michonne's playful murmur, a particularly well placed swipe of her tongue and stroke of her fingers, light scrapes with her nails and a damp fingertip pressed dangerously against him made him swear his loudest yet, causing her to laugh openly, temporarily distracted from the task at hand and providing him with just the opening that he needed for her to swallow something besides his -

"Rick!" His name left her lips in a half-hearted protest as he pulled her up and over, neatly pinning her to the bed with her arms above her head and his fingers making their way to her increasingly wet, hot center.

"That's right," he breathed, smirking into her mouth as his hand began to move in tandem with the kisses he was bestowing there before moving further down and hovering over her flexing, eager, parted legs. "Keep saying it. Say my name."

Michonne enthusiastically complied and he grinned in between thrusts with his tongue and deliberate scrapes with his beard, enjoying immensely when she was the chatty one of the two of them.)

 _your hips, those thighs, I (love it when you thug me, baby)_

It was with some measure of guilt that Rick had first learned to appreciate just what a beautiful woman that Michonne was.

His wife had just died, had just given her life so that their baby might survive. And his son had put Lori down, and he was slowly adjusting to a life that had already be wrecked to pieces several times over in the wake of the months since he had first awoken in that hospital in Atlanta.

And more often than he would like to admit, Rick would find himself staring at Michonne as she walked away from him.

Fine. Her ass. He was staring at Michonne's ass. His wife had just died and he was staring at another woman's ass, and he had felt guilty for it in those early days, even if it was unconscious on his part at first.

But it wasn't just her curves that had attracted him, even though her body, honed through disciplined, if sometimes sporadic, workouts was a work of art.

It was the unique, graceful strength with which she wielded and slashed her katana that he noticed, how she could use the weapon as an extension of her own body and hold her own in a horde of walkers or one on one with one of the many people who were no longer people after the world had ended. It was how she could walk with confidence and an alertness that hid her exhaustion when the group was weary and defeated. It was the way she could exert herself to her very limits and push beyond them, and how she would use those newfound abilities to throw her body and her entire being into helping someone else, no matter how much she had been through, no matter how much they had yet to go through.

The reality was, Michonne's presence was much larger than her physical being, and it was her presence, her strength, her grace, and her ability to push herself beyond earthly, physical limits that truly pulled him in, and kept him there for so long, needing it, relying on and eventually craving it, both her presence, and her body.

(Rick couldn't help grabbing Michonne's shapely ass with one hand and gripping the delicious curve of her hip with the other as he pulled her back into a slow grind, as she directed his strokes into her, riding him and finding that sinful rhythm that she liked to use when they could take their time, when the world went spinning on without them while they used one another as their anchor.

She was never more beautiful to him than in moments like this, when her body was displayed in front of him in all its glory, when she was falling apart in front of him in ecstasy, when her hands were taking what they could from his shoulders, his back, his chest, his hips, when her skin was shining with exertion and her back arched in the perfect way so his hands could cup her breasts.

And then the beauty was in the breakdown as he helped her with his fingers and the increasingly uncontrolled movements of his hips, as she fell for him and sought his hand to hold through her release, as she dropped her head to his chest and moaned, a sound that rippled in the air and into his body, into his soul.

He easily rolled her onto her back, her body wet, warm and ready, eager to take her in again so they could find their climax together, so he could feel her strong legs wrapping around his waist and bringing them even closer together, again and again until there was nothing except his body on hers.)

 _and I can't deny, I (love it when I'm with you, baby)_

Rick could not remember a time before Michonne was a part of their group, their family, their home.

He could not remember when Michonne was not a part of him.

It was a strange feeling, contemplating anything related to a future, or the next world where they weren't fighting for their lives. And a part of him knew it was dangerous to make plans in this life where change so brutally called the tunes to which they all danced.

But they had a place to live, a community, a place that could potentially be safe for the long term. They had the people of Alexandria, new allies and members of the family.

They had Sasha, Abraham, Rosita, Eugene, Tara, and Gabriel. They had Daryl, Glenn, Maggie and Carol. They had Carl and Judith.

They had gotten here, with these people, together.

Whatever the future held, if they had a future Rick knew that Michonne was a part of his, and of his children's.

She had given him life once, and again so many times over, just by the sheer force of being Michonne, the woman he had come to know, to want to share his life with, and to love.

(Her hair tickled his chest as she rested her head against it, and he chuckled slightly as his breathing began to return to a normal level, as Michonne came down from her own state of bliss. He kissed her hairline lightly and pulled her closer, sliding his hand open palmed across her back, sliding against the sweaty sheen until his arm was wrapped around the narrow circumference of her waist.

She kissed his chest in response, nuzzling against it for a moment and he could feel her eyes close, her eyelashes brushing lightly against his skin.

"Michonne?"

"Hmm?"

He could tell from her slow, even breathing that she was close to falling asleep, and after the day that they'd had, she had more than earned the respite.

Watching her sleep, for the moment, was enough for him.

"Good night." He placed a feather light kiss on her forehead, moving down slightly so he could gently press his forehead to hers.

"Night." The word came out as more of a sigh as she drifted off, and Rick smiled as he watched Michonne's peacefully sleeping features.

He could always tell her tomorrow.)


End file.
